Closer
by Ebony10
Summary: Jane and Lisbon find themselves in a sticky situation. Hostage type situation-rating just in case...
1. Taken

Okay, this basic plot has been nagging me for a long while now and, upon the encouragement of Tromana, I started it. I think it will be a doozy (as in long) so I don't know when I'll finish or how often I can update. So bear with me, please. A bit of swearing and likely some uncomfortable situations. Hostage-y situation so if you don't like that stuff, don't read. Jisbon in the end, probably. I would assume so, at least—I mean, this _is_ me.

So this entire fic is for Tromana, who was in the mood for some angst. Don't know if this covers it, but here ya go. And I posted today to save a life. Specifically, Divinia's life….

Chapter One: Taken

* * *

The first thing Lisbon registered was the dank smell. It was pitch black and it took a moment for her to realize that the darkness was because her eyes were closed. Prying her eyes open didn't make much of a difference. She squinted in the dim light and tried to ignore the pounding at the back of her head. Well, more than a pounding. In fact, it felt more like an ice pick continuously hacking at her skull.

She grimaced slightly. Okay, that wasn't the best mental picture.

Her vision blurred for a second so she closed her eyes and took deep, even breaths. She'd finish taking an inventory of her surroundings in a moment. Just as soon as she got rid of the small bout of nausea invading her senses.

Where was she? What had happened?

Carefully—lest she forget to regulate her breathing, somehow making her feel worse—she thought back. The last thing she remembered was walking out to the parking lot with Jane. Often, when he noticed her leaving late at night he would come up with some lame excuse to see her to her car. Ridiculous, really. Who had a gun? Who had training?

But he was stubborn and telling him no was like waving a red flag in front of a bull. So, with no small amount of amusement, she usually let him walk her to her car.

She didn't remember actually reaching her car. Only his teasing voice as he said something before sudden darkness.

Being knocked out?

That meant that Jane was likely either hurt or dead. She had to open her eyes and see if he was there. She opened her eyes, letting them adjust again to the small amount of light in the room. Damn, she'd have to turn her head. She did so, the nausea slowly abating. The movement sounded a small creak—like old bed springs. She was on a lumpy mattress, she realized.

"Lisbon?"

Jane's voice. Whispering. He must have heard the springs.

"Lisbon? Are you awake? Are you okay?"

She tried to answer, realized that no sound came out, and cleared her throat. She could speak now, but her voice sounded so hoarse. "Yeah. I'm fine. You?"

"Not a scratch." He sounded rather chipper and, as usual, it irritated her. God, couldn't he take anything seriously? She was glad she didn't snap at him because his next words were quite a shade more serious than he usually was. "I basically went without a fuss once they had a knife to your skin."

She sighed. "Who?"

She was down to minimal sentences, if you could even call them sentences. Less trouble. Less painful.

The silence stretched for a moment, but Lisbon didn't push. She was focusing on ignoring the pain. Finally, Jane answered. "I'm not sure yet. I know them, but it'll take me a while to place them. A woman, late fifties. A young man, maybe her son, mid-twenties."

Lisbon didn't even try to think about who it could be. Not right now. "Where?"

"Don't know. They covered my head, but I'd say we drove for about two hours. And from the feel of the turns, we seemed to have gotten on I-5 South."

She sighed. "No witnesses at the CBI, I suppose."

She could almost feel his hesitance. "We were there pretty late. I think the only ones there besides you and I were the cleaning crew and a single security man. We were pretty hidden from the security cameras at that point. And the cleaning crew does the filing office in the basement at that time of night. Or morning rather."

"Perfect."

"Glad to see the blow to your head hasn't affected your lovely sense of sarcasm, my dear."

"Go to hell."

"Not yet."

The banter between them made her feel more steady, more centered. More normal. Tentatively, she shifted on the lumpy mattress and realized that her hands and feet were both tied down. Jane seemed to hear her movement and responded.

"You're tied to the bed frame. Our wonderful hosts have secured me to a chair about five feet from you. I must admit that I'm relieved you've finally woken up. You were starting to worry me a little."

For Jane to admit that, she knew that she had to have been out for longer than she thought. "How long?"

"It's probably been about thirteen hours now."

"So the team should realize something's up. Cells?"

"Taken."

"Shit."

That seemed to sum it up.

Her head started to hurt again and she wanted so badly to succumb to the sleep that was beckoning her. Unsurprisingly, Jane seemed to sense that.

"I think you should stay awake, Lisbon. For twenty-four hours now, if you can. You may have a concussion."

She jerked her head once in a nod, forgetting both that he couldn't really see her in the weak light and that she had a head wound that would make it rather painful to nod. Her voice was a little strangled when she answered. "Right."

She jumped a little as a door swung open, banging against the wall and allowing some light to pour in. Suddenly, the room was lit and Lisbon squeezed her eyes shut against the invading brightness.

"There, that's better."

The voice sounded pleasant, but there was an undercurrent that made her shiver.

She could tell already. This was not going to be fun.

Maybe she should ignore Jane's advice and slip into sleep…


	2. The Past, Revisited

Okay, Tromana, slowly getting more angsty-ish, I hope.

Posted right now because Famous4it sent me a wonderful message.

Thanks to all the readers and the reviewers! And I hope it's obvious I don't own them…

Chapter Two: The Past, Revisited

* * *

Jane eyed the familiar woman in front of him. Who _was_ she?

His gaze flitted over to Lisbon, tied spread eagle on the bed. The vulnerable position didn't jive with his mental image of her. Lisbon was someone who took care of things. Larger than life. On top of everything. Capable. Not tied to a bed, staining the dingy sheets red with blood from her head wound.

He peered closer. Well, at least the red looked crusty and dried. Not fresh. That was good. He tried to feel optimistic. Her eyes were still tightly shut, blocking out the light from the two naked light bulbs hanging above them. The stranger's voice drew his attention once more.

"Better with light, isn't it? I see your friend's up, Mr. Jane." The older woman smiled at him and a memory tickled the edge of his consciousness.

_Mr. Jane._

It was just there. Just out of reach. He definitely knew her. He glanced through the open door behind her, but there was no one. Just an empty white hallway. Cleaner than this room, for sure. But the man from before was no where to be seen.

Jane wasn't stupid. Far from it, actually. These two hadn't bothered to disguise their identities. They obviously weren't scared of getting caught. And, clearly, it was a sign that he and Lisbon weren't mean to make it out of this alive.

The woman's words had caused Lisbon to open her eyes and glare up at the one intruding in the room. Jane would almost laugh at her feistiness if the situation weren't so dire.

"Indeed she is," he responded. Better to play along for now. "Though I can't imagine she's comfortable like that."

The woman's eyes flitted over to the senior agent before returning to Jane. "No, I'm sure she's not, but I can't be too careful yet. Maybe later, once you realize the rules, we can give you both a little more freedom."

She stepped closer and reached a hand out to push a lock of his hair from his forehead. Her touch was almost tender, as were her eyes. For a moment, Jane wondered if there was something sexual on her part, but no. It was not desire that motivated her hand. She was almost…motherly. The world disappeared for a moment as he traveled back to another time. To his other life. A meeting with a client.

"_Paddy says you have to move on. Let him go and move on."_

_The woman in front of Patrick Jane sobbed a little. "But I can't."_

_He reached forward and grasped her hand gently. "Yes. You can. I can help."_

_Genevieve Shawt—Genny to those close to her—nodded, eyes red and watering. "Okay."_

He didn't let the realization show on his face. Wouldn't do to tip his cards. He kept his face calm, impassive. "What do you need us for, Genny?"

Her clear blue eyes grew stormy for a moment. Jane knew that Lisbon had turned her own curious, green eyes to him, but he ignored her for the moment. He had to focus. He had to figure out what was going on. Genny put both hands on her hips. "Paddy, how dare you call me that?"

Jane was surprised at the about-face of her demeanor. She was no longer calm, but annoyed.

"You'll stay here and think about what you've done wrong."

She slammed out of the small room, leaving the bulbs glowing. Well, that was a plus. Lisbon's voice came next.

"Paddy?"

"Not a pet name for me, Lisbon. It was her son's name." He tilted his head, still staring at the door, trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together. "She was a client back before—well, before."

He turned his head back to her. She looked tired. He had to keep her awake.

Lisbon's expression showed him just how much she was struggling, but he decided to humor her. "Tell me what you remember about her, Jane."

He closed his eyes, taking himself back to sessions where he wore slick suits and had even slicker hair. "Her son had died and she came to me to contact him. I told her that her son needed her to get over his death, to move on, and was then helping her do so."

He smiled wryly as he reopened his eyes. "For a hefty fee, of course."

Lisbon hummed low in her throat and Jane tried not to show how worried he still was about her. She wasn't as verbal as usual and her silence wasn't her pulling away from him. He was pretty sure it was a symptom of her injury. "Talk to me, Lisbon. What are you thinking?"

She huffed out a breath. "You had a lot of clients, Jane. And I've had a lot of cases. It's going to take the team a very long time to go through all of those unless they get a solid lead. We'll have to hope they can find something."

Jane wished he wasn't tied to a chair. He wanted to go and check out her wound. Run his fingers through her hair. Take her away from here.

Again, his previous life as a pseudo psychic was hurting someone he cared about. It had taken his family. And now it had hurt Lisbon. It was all his fault. Lisbon's voice intruded on his thoughts.

"Jane, it's not your fault. People make choices and this woman _chose_ to abduct us. Now, we either figure out a way to escape or we sit and wait for help to arrive. Or both."

Jane almost smiled at the normalcy. She sounded so…so…Lisbony.

Too bad he didn't know where to start with either of those choices.


	3. Okay

I'm glad everyone likes it so far. Thanks for the reviews! I don't have much more written and not a lot of time, but I'll try to fit in writing as often as possible. When I thought last quarter (semester) was the quarter from hell, I obviously hadn't lived this one yet… Chapter Three: Okay

* * *

The next time the door opened, it wasn't Genny, but rather a young man. Lisbon suspected it was the man that Jane recalled. He looked ordinary enough. Brown hair, brown eyes, nondescript features.

He carried a tray with some food. "Good evening."

Lisbon's head lolled over to see him more fully. So Jane's calculations were right. It was evening. The man set the tray down and stood, eyes passing over Jane before settling on Lisbon. Something about his gaze felt off, but she was so tired she couldn't quite place what she saw in his eyes.

He smiled. She supposed it was supposed to be gentle, but it came off a little predatory. "So quiet. Cat got your tongue?"

"Didn't hear anything that required a response." Lisbon answered since it seemed the man was speaking to her, not Jane.

"Ah, so you're going to be like that." His tone was cool. He took a few steps forward, toward Lisbon. The petite brunette saw Jane's expression change from watchful to alarmed. She watched as he schooled it back to his normal nonchalance.

"I know Genny, but I don't believe I know you, good sir."

The man froze and slowly turned around to face the tied up consultant. "I am her son."

Jane didn't come out and say it, but there was a moment of hesitation. Her son? The man answered the unspoken question.

"Not Paddy. He was my older brother. I'm Steve."

"I see."

Patrick Jane could be a man of few words when he wanted. Lisbon knew that well. The man—Steve—narrowed his eyes at Jane.

"I don't think you do, Mr. Jane." The words were almost sneered. As if he was fed up with Jane, Steve turned abruptly back to Lisbon. This time he was swift in movement, approaching the bed and reaching a hand out to her, trailing the backs of his fingers down her cheek. She forced herself to keep perfectly still. To show no reaction.

"You're very beautiful, you know." Steve's eyes were dark and intent on her face. She made herself keep his gaze, not look away. His fingers moved around and into her hair, probing closer to her wound. She winced involuntarily as pain lanced through her skull. Jane, keeping silent for this long (unsure if he would make things worse for her if he talked), cut in.

"She needs her wound cleaned and wrapped."

His words broke into the almost trance that Steve was in. His fingers pulled back and he glanced at Jane for a moment, considering. He nodded briefly. "Right. Maybe later tonight. There's food. You should eat."

He leaned forward, untying Lisbon's ankles. He quickly and efficiently rearranged Lisbon to be sitting up with her back against the wall, tying her ankles together and back to a part of the metal bed frame. Her hands were lashed together as well. With the same brisk movements, he untied and retied Jane so that the two were on the bed side by side, secured in the same way to the frame. The tray of food was set between them. Lisbon couldn't believe that Steve would do this. How easy it would be for Jane to untie her. Or vice versa.

Almost as soon as these thoughts were reverberating through her mind, Steve was taking a length of chain and locking one end to her bindings and the other to the frame, allowing her movement, but only so far. He did the same to Jane and she realized that they were just out of range of one another. They could move, eat the food, but they could not reach each other's hands.

So close, yet so far.

Somehow, she wasn't surprised.

With one short caress to her calf, Steve was out the door. Lisbon sighed. Great. Seemed like she had an admirer. Something she wasn't comfortable with under regular circumstances, let alone these. Her tied up, no escape. Ugh. Just her luck. She mentally shrugged and reached for a hunk of bread. Jane spoke.

"Seems like you have an admirer, Lisbon."

Why did he feel the need to state the obvious at times like this?

"Thanks, Sherlock. I guess I must be too stupid to realize a man feeling me up would indicate that. Or maybe it's the head wound." She couldn't help it. The sarcasm just popped out. She took a deep breath. It wasn't his fault—well, not exactly—that they were in this situation. "Sorry, Jane."

"No need for apologies. I have to admit, I did it to wheedle you. Nice to see you haven't lost your sense of sarcasm," Jane confessed. He grabbed some food as well, starting to eat. Lisbon took a bite of the bread, chewing thoughtfully.

She swallowed and decided to be open. Honest. "I'm tired. It's hard to stay awake."

"I know, Lisbon. But you have to. Wouldn't want to leave me here alone to deal with whatever these wackos have planned."

She grinned a little. "Like a baby with the wolves."

He laughed self-deprecatingly, not even bothering to argue with her assessment. So he wasn't the best with physical altercations. "It'll be okay. We'll make it through this together."

Lisbon leaned over as far as he could and Jane slid over as close as his bonds would allow him. Hands held at bay, she put her head on Jane's shoulder and took a shuddering breath. He put his cheek to her hair, trying to ignore the feeling of the crusted blood and the tightening inside him as his hard-as-nails boss let down a little of her defenses. It wasn't the most comfortable position either of them had ever been in, but it was that small bit of human contact that they needed. The weight of her head on his shoulder. The feel of his cheek pressing against her. She wished she believed his next words.

"It'll be okay."


	4. Grim

This is a short one. Sorry for taking so long to update! Life has been very chaotic. But, we got a new kitten (she's very hard to keep up with). :D Chapter Four: Grim

* * *

The food was gone. Jane had prodded Lisbon into humming a medley of songs to him so that he could make sure she was still awake. He was actually very surprised at her repertoire. He watched the door avidly, waiting for either Genny or Steve's return. Lisbon needed her head wound cleaned. He shuddered to think of an infection.

He turned over what he knew in his mind. His old client had abducted them. When he knew Genny, she was a gentle if broken woman. He had never met her family. What could drive her to do something like this…

He sensed something was off with her, as if she had slowly become unhinged in the years since he last saw her. Things were calm now, but these kinds of situations accelerated quickly. And Genny's son, Steve, well…his interest in Lisbon made something tighten inside of Jane. Made him angry. Nervous. Edgy.

Lisbon shifted, leaning away from Jane in order to stretch her muscles. He glanced at her. She looked okay. Tired, but okay. Her hair was so dark that he could barely see the wound, but he knew it was there. The red stain on the yellow-tinged sheet could attest.

The door opened.

It was Genny, looking as homey as a woman ever could. Apron. First aid kit in hand. Jane almost deflated with relief. Genny smiled at them.

"Hey, you two." She scurried over to Lisbon and set the kit on the bed. Her hands fluttered around Lisbon's head for a moment before reaching to brush her hair aside. "Let's have a look at that head, sweetheart."

Jane could tell that Lisbon was bewildered. To be honest, he was a little confused. Why would this sweet woman want to abduct two adults?

"Paddy's never brought a girl home before. You must be something special," Genny spoke softly as she cleaned the wound. Lisbon's brow furrowed.

"Um—" She stopped before she could get any words out, clearly not knowing what to do. She took a deep breath and continued. "Genny. I am a state agent. If you let us go, we can help you. No one has to get hurt."

"Wow, dear. A state agent? Our Paddy caught a good one." She cast a warm smile to Jane as she finished bandaging Lisbon's head. It was as if she hadn't even heard the second half of Lisbon's statement. Jane decided to join the attempt to reason with the woman. His voice was calm and soothing.

"Genny, my name is Patrick Jane. I am not your son."

His voice was firm. Genny's face seemed to crumble. Weepily, she answered. "I know that, Mr. Jane."

His eyes were intent, knowing. "Why did you bring us here, Genny?"

She sniffled and grasped her hands together. "I need you to talk to Paddy for me."

Jane smiled sadly. "I can't do that. Not for you or anyone. I'm not a real psychic. I never was."

And just like that, the broken woman became an enraged one. "No! I know you can get me my Paddy!"

She paced angrily around the small room.

"You're wrong, Genny. Psychics don't exist."

"They do! You found him for me before…why won't you help me?" Her face twisted as her voice rose. She grabbed the front of Lisbon's shirt and shook the small woman roughly. Jane tensed. "I've seen you help her. Why can't you help me?"

Her hands slipped as she lost her steam, stepping back. She was back to the defeated woman, whispering. "Why?"

A sob escaped once more and she fled the room, slamming the door behind her. Jane turned immediately to Lisbon. "Are you okay?"

She opened her eyes and met his gaze. "Yeah. I'm good. That was…wow."

Jane nodded. Now he knew what they were dealing with. Genny Shawt was not in her right mind. And she was desperate. Not a good mix.

Things were looking grimmer.


	5. If Only

If only I could write the next chapter and keep up with Tro's crazy pace of writing…lol. Sorry for making you all wait. And, unfortunately, you may have to wait for the next one though I would like to try to start updating more often. I'm glad you all like it so far. Thanks to all for the reviews, reads, alerts, etc!!

**Chapter Five: If Only**

* * *

Lisbon sighed. God, it had been a very long twenty-four hours. She was exhausted. Not to mention hungry. They hadn't had more food since the scraps the day before. And no one had been back since Genny had stormed out. She shifted. There was a very real need for facilities. Good thing they hadn't gotten anything to drink or the need would be ten times as urgent.

Huh. She never thought she'd feel grateful for being denied water. Dehydration or wetting the bed?

Tough choice. She grimaced at the thought of sitting in her own urine. Disgusting…She wondered if Jane was thinking the same things… Maybe she would get some shut eye since she had cleared the twenty-four hour mark. Concussion or no concussion, there was no way she could stay awake for much longer.

Her head lolled a bit and she shifted again, trying to get comfortable. The ties around her wrist dug into her skin and she knew that the bruises and chafing would soon start to bleed. She heard footsteps outside the door. Heavy footsteps.

She may have been out of it yesterday due to pain, but she didn't have to be a mentalist to realize it wasn't Genny. Probably Steve. She rolled her eyes. _Great deduction, Lisbon. You sure deserved your own team._

Jane perked up a bit, now the picture alertness.

The door opened, revealing Steve—just as she thought. He held a duffel bag that bulged in various places. Jane smiled charmingly and Lisbon almost groaned aloud.

"Steve! Great to see you. You see, Lisbon and I are going to need to relieve ourselves very soon, if you know what I mean," Jane finished. Steve glowered at him and nodded once. Unzipping the bag, he began pulling out what must be intended as supplies. Lisbon's heart sank down to her empty stomach. Two chains with ankle manacles. Steve hesitated, as if wondering what else from the bag would be necessary. He obviously thought that was enough for now because he zipped it back up and tossed it very close to the door.

Chains. Very sturdy from the look of it. Lisbon knew that meant this had gotten a lot more permanent. Why change the bonds if it would be a short sojourn? Of course, she figured she should be happy. This meant they weren't going to be killed right away.

Steve should have been a cop. Maybe he _was_ outside of this small prison (she shuddered to imagine a cop doing this to another cop). He made short work of chaining their ankles and securing the opposite ends to the wall. Lisbon noticed Jane staring at the wall. She wondered what he was thinking now. _She_ was thinking that this room looked well equipped to be a prison for quite a while. With these new ankle manacles, she and Jane could move around, but were still confined to one side of the room. At least they could still use the bed. Their hands were still bound with rope, but Lisbon figured it was simply because Steve didn't want to deal with it right now because it was obvious that she and Jane would remove the ropes once he left.

Clearly, their captor wasn't worried about that. For good reason. Those chains were extremely sturdy. No way could they break out without a key or some good equipment. The room was barren aside from the bed and food tray (no dishes or silverware, of course).

And, apparently, except for a chamber pot—as Steve pointed out helpfully. He dragged it out from under the bed and Lisbon tried not to stare at it in horror.

Oh, _ewwww_.

She and Jane were going to get way closer than she ever wanted. Surprisingly, it seemed that was all Steve had in mind for now. He seemed distracted. Busy. On his way somewhere? Work? With a brief mention of food later, he left. After the door closed, the silence seemed stifling. Lisbon turned to Jane, a little surprised to find him watching her. She held her bound hands up.

"Think you can untie me? Or should I untie you first to make it easier for you?"

He gave an arrogant little smirk. Nice to see that the situation wasn't beating down his personality. "Please, Lisbon. I traveled with carnies. Of course I can untie you, even bound as I am."

And he did so with a swiftness and ease that had her wondering just how many talents the suave Patrick Jane hid. She untied his wrists with her own set of capable (now freed) hands. As she was retreating to the bed, he grabbed her forearm, tugging her towards him. The metal around her ankles clanked around angrily as her body shifted direction.

Gingerly, he prodded her wrists around the dark marks that marred them. Her intake of air was sharp. He wouldn't look up at her. His warm hands held her cool ones, palms up. "I'm sorry, Lisbon."

"Why?" She suddenly couldn't stand his seriousness. All the times she complained about him being too blasé and light-hearted…and, now, when he was finally coming down to earth she wasn't sure she could handle it. She resorted to teasing, bantering. "Think those measly bruises affect me?"

He looked up, not buying into her false playfulness. Blue eyes burned into green. "Your skin should never look like this."

Her throat was dry. She didn't know what to say. So she cleared her throat and retreated for real this time, pulling her hands from his. Flippantly, she responded. "Part of the job, I guess."

She flopped onto the bed as well as she could with iron dragging her legs down. "Lousy accommodations. One bed, no bath, a freaking pot for a toilet. And the room service is terrible."

He sat down carefully next to her, feet planted on the ground. She didn't know why she was being so playful about the situation. That wasn't like her.

But he was so dark, so intense right now that she felt the need to lighten the atmosphere. The air was stagnant enough without adding the heavy weight of guilt and doom to the mix.He didn't speak and she felt the dankness of gloom settle around them. She sighed.

"Jane, it's not your fault."

He laughed dryly. "Right."

She sat up and reached out, pressed two fingers against his arm briefly before drawing back. "Really. You can't be held accountable for the crazy decisions people make. I learned that a long time ago."

He was still for a moment before nodding. She watched his shoulders rise and fall as he took a deep breath. His eyes looked a little less tortured when they returned to her face. "Thanks, Lisbon."

"Don't worry about it."

Don't worry about it.

If only.


	6. Wishes

Kind of an interim chapter. More action next time, I promise. Thanks for sticking with the story! I really appreciate all of the lovely comments.

**Chapter Six: Wishes**

* * *

Jane lay on the sorry excuse for a mattress, staring up to the ceiling. Well, staring at what would be the ceiling if it were visible. The light was off and the room was pitch black.

A week.

They had been in this dank prison for a week.

The only contact they had with others had been when Steve had brought bits of food, but Jane knew that wouldn't last long. Lisbon's head had all but healed and Jane had a feeling that when it did, it would only be the beginning. Though he didn't show it, he grew more nervous by the day.

The bed squeaked as Lisbon scooted closer to him, obviously asleep. He felt her arm brush his side and imagined that warmth spread through him. Imagined that some of her strength, some of her goodness, could spread to him through some sort of process of osmosis.

She shifted again and the clank of metal against metal sounded out, seemingly a gunshot in the quiet. Jane waited for her to wake from the noise, but still she slept. To him, the noise was like nails on a chalkboard. Grating. Nerve-wracking. A sound that signaled a kind of eerie, impending doom.

There was more clanking as Lisbon rolled onto her side toward him. Her nose buried in his shoulder. So close to cuddling up to him.

And he experienced a longing so intense that he couldn't stop it. His hands moved as if of their own accord to pull her fully to him. To wrap around her delicate body and adjust her so her head rested in the crook between his shoulder and neck, hair tickling the skin of his throat.

She seemed so small like this. Sleeping, she reminded him of a vulnerable child. He swallowed hard. Funny, he had never imagined his end like this.

It had always involved some kind of scenario with Red John.

He felt Lisbon let out a small sigh and the puff of warm air on his skin made him hold her just a little tighter.

He ignored the strange clenching in the vicinity of his heart. This was simply seeking comfort from a fellow hostage.

One he cared about very much.

He wished he hadn't walked her out that night. Or that he had left earlier than her.

He wished that she was in her office, worrying like crazy over his disappearance—angry, guilty.

He wished she was anything but here.

And then he remembered that he hadn't wished anything since his stay in the institution.

Wishing was dangerous business.

Especially because they never came true.

Not for him, anyway.


	7. Hostage 101

The plot thickens. If you don't like hostage stuff, stop reading now. The next few may get a little hairy (that's such a weird phrase…who came up with it??). And this story will continue to be from Lisbon/Jane viewpoints rather than telling what the team is doing. Sorry!

I'll try to update soon.

**Chapter Seven: Hostage 101**

* * *

Lisbon stirred, moving to stretch her body out much like a cat. She was thwarted by a heavy weight around her ankles.

Oh. Right. The shackles.

She sighed and opened her eyes, not ready to face the reality before her but too much of a law enforcement officer to allow herself to hide behind her eyelids. Only something obscured her vision. She stiffened.

Ah, yes. A dress shirt. Jane.

Wait, Jane?

She inventoried her body, which seemed to lie smoothly tucked into Jane's own body. Damn. How'd that happen?

"In your sleep."

Of course Jane would answer the question she only asked in her head. She maneuvered so she could see up into his face. What she saw in his blue eyes didn't answer any questions so she sat up and stretched her arms up into the air, moaning slightly from the soreness that accompanied her muscles. She wasn't used to so much inactivity.

She should get up and try to do as much exercising as she could in the confined space they had. She poked Jane's side—an obvious hint for him to shove over so she could get out as she was situated on the side of the bed that jutted up against the wall. He ignored her, gazing up at the ceiling.

She rolled her eyes. His games got old real fast. Fine.

She clambered unceremoniously over his body, ignoring the warmth that spread under her skin every time she brushed up against him. The metal from her restraints clanked as they scraped across the bed frame.

For the next hour, she stretched, did push-ups and sit-ups, and relaxed in some classic yoga poses. All in all, she was rather proud of herself for accomplishing so much while chained to a wall. Jane spoke again once she was doing her warm down stretches.

"Why do you bother?"

She closed her eyes and focused on the feeling of her muscles stretching pleasurably, happy from a workout after all the non-activity. "Because one of the easiest ways to continue being a hostage is to let the lack of activity affect your body to the point of no return, making you unable to seize an opening even when granted the opportunity."

Silence answered her and she could practically hear his smirk, if such a thing were possible. She opened one eye and, indeed, he was smirking at her. Both eyes opened for the sole purpose of glaring at him. "What?"

He grinned now. "You sound like a textbook. Hostage 101."

She continued to glower at him for a moment, but it seemed her mouth had a mind of its own. First one side of her lips, then the other tugged up until she was smiling ruefully. "Guess I did."

And that was the scene that Genny stumbled upon: Jane lying relaxed (one would almost think he was chained up) on the bed and staring softly at Lisbon, who was sitting in the yoga pose on the dirty floor returning a smile that seemed to hold secrets.

It made her uncomfortable.

Lisbon didn't move as Genny entered the room, eyeing the older woman warily. She had no idea what to expect from the unstable woman.

"Good morning, you two," a cheerful greeting that was partnered with a tray of food. "Here's breakfast."

Jane reached for some and began to chew it, watching his old client. Lisbon joined him and ate slowly, but steadily as they listened to their captor ramble about the weather and other mundane things. Finally, they had finished eating and Genny set the tray by the door before turning around, her homey smile belied by the look of determination in her eyes.

"Now, Mr. Jane, it's about time you stopped playing around. I want to talk to Paddy."

Jane gazed at the woman calmly. "That's not possible, Genny. He's dead."

"I know he's dead!" Genny screeched and Lisbon's body tensed, ready for anything. Genny took a deep breath, trying to grasp her fraying control. When she spoke, her voice had returned to that clam, eerie tone that hid a world of chaos. "I know he's dead. But I know you can bring him here. You've done it before."

Jane settled both his feet firmly on the floor and clasped his hands together, meeting Genny's eyes with an unwavering stare. "I was a fraud, Genny. I'm not psychic nor was I ever. Because psychics don't exist."

The woman didn't respond. She simply stood there, breathing heavily. Lisbon was reminded of an enraged animal that didn't see a way out, but was waiting for the perfect opening to unleash all the anger. Genny's hands clenched. "We'll see about that, Mr. Jane."

She left abruptly, the door slamming shut behind her.

It wasn't even an hour before her son Steve entered and began rummaging around in the duffel bag. Jane and Lisbon were silent witnesses to his actions. Retrieving what he had been searching for, he turned to them.

Lisbon knew immediately what was coming. She hadn't gotten into the academy with her looks. She knew exactly what came next in a situation like this.

Jane wasn't as quick, but he knew he didn't like the look in the man's eyes.

Steve spoke.

"You should have just done what my mother asked, Mr. Jane."


	8. Savior

It's been so long! I'm sooo sorry!! Unfortunately, it's been a crappy couple of weeks for me for personal reasons (one being that one of my cats is dying from cancer). One thing must be explained for this chapter: a keisaku is a stick used in Japanese Zen meditation to allow the one meditating to focus and stay awake. You'll see just a little more of what happened via flashback in the next chapter, I think. Hope you like it! Thanks for sticking with it!

**Chapter Eight: Savior**

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"_You should have just done what my mother asked, Mr. Jane."_

The words echoed in his mind, replaying over and over.

"You should have…"

"_You should have…"_

"…_should have…"_

They echoed in tandem with the sharp crack against skin—a sound that Jane couldn't escape. A sound that tore him apart. His voice had long since become hoarse from pleading.

He squeezed his eyes shut, throat feeling tight, eyes suspiciously scratchy. He tried again, entreating in an intense whisper. "Please."

The world seemed to freeze. Sound stopped. Air stilled. The only thing punctuating was her harsh breathing.

Jane opened his eyes, looking over.

Lisbon.

She hung from a hook on the ceiling by her bound wrists. Steve stood behind her, holding a wooden stick suspended in the air. If he weren't so upset, Jane would find it ironic that the man would use a keisaku as an instrument for malicious violence. An instrument to aid in meditation.

And this man was beating Lisbon with it.

Unconscionable for so many reasons.

Their captor's eyes seemed to glow with a feverish concentration. He took a deep breath. "Right. Well, Mr. Jane, you have the night to reconsider, though I think you've already had a change of heart."

Steve quickly uncuffed Jane and then was gone. Funny how it was so easy for someone to enter and exit a room. Without fuss. Even after inflicting so much pain. It seemed inhuman to Jane.

Just like he couldn't imagine how Red John could murder time after time and yet somewhere out there, the serial killer was living a relatively normal life. Doing mundane things like picking up his mail. Paying bills.

It didn't seem right.

And this was no different.

Steve could beat a bound victim and then turn around and walk out, returning to the world to do the same mundane things that everyone else did.

As he hurried to Lisbon's limp body, Jane wondered why such a world could exist.

Gently cradling her against his own body with one hand, he reached up with his other to pull her bonds from the ceiling hook. She would have collapsed to the floor if he hadn't been there to hold her up. God, she felt so fragile in his arms.

He remembered how young and helpless she had felt sleeping next to him. Carefully, he maneuvered her to the bed and untied her bound hands, worried when her eyes remained closed. Uncharacteristically, his hands fluttered over her, wanting to lift her shirt to check for wounds, but unsure if he wanted to see the results of his actions. Again.

Why was it always a result of his actions?

Why did he hurt those he cared about?

His hands stilled as she shifted, groaning. Her eyes opened, green meeting blue. She coughed a little before trying to speak. He shushed her.

"Just breathe, Lisbon."

His hand smoothed her hair back from her forehead, freely allowing the tender gestures that he usually contained. And he couldn't stop his hand from seeking out hers and lacing their fingers together. "I'm so sorry, Lisbon."

"Jane, if you don't stop apologizing for things that aren't your fault, I'll be tempted to shoot you," Lisbon replied, no hint of accusation in her voice. It startled a short laugh out of Jane. Leave it to Lisbon…

He couldn't resist falling into their normal banter.

"You don't have a gun, my dear."

He felt her squeeze his hand before she answered. "Details, details."

He took a deep breath. "Tomorrow, I'll help Genny speak to her son."

Jane could almost taste Lisbon's uncertainty in the air. Her hand felt slightly damp with sweat. Or was that his?

"If you can't, then I understand. Do what you need to, Jane."

"I need us to get out of this alive. I need you to be safe. That's what I need."

Now decided, he turned and lifted her shirt, easily swatting her hands out of the way when she attempted to deflect. He felt his insides roil when he saw yet more dark bruises forming on her skin—this time along her ribs. He was sure they covered her upper legs and her shoulders, too.

Steve hadn't shown any mercy.

Jane gently prodded her ribs. She grimaced, but spoke with conviction. "They're not broken."

He nodded, not doubting her. She had been a cop long enough to know if her ribs were broken or not.

He couldn't seem to look away from her bruises. It was like he was transfixed, gaze narrowed to those angry marks, static filling his ears until he could only hear the slap of the keisaku as it hit Lisbon over and over.

"…_should have…"_

"Jane!"

He watched as she pulled her shirt down, covering her wounds and pulling him from his thoughts, bringing him back to her.

Now that he thought about it, she was always saving him.

In so many ways.

He wondered if he would find the courage to tell her that before the end.


	9. Weary

So sorry for the delay! Things should be better now (personally and with school- on break for a week). I hope to write a ton more this week, maybe even finish this fic. :D Thanks, everyone, for the great reviews and for sticking with!

I just spewed this chapter out so there may be mistakes/incoherentness, but I hope not (for your sakes).

**Chapter Nine: Weary**

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Lisbon held back a groan as she shifted. Ugh. Bruises like these were almost worse than broken ribs. With broken ribs, every once in a while you could lay just right and be comfortable. There wasn't a single side of her body that was free of the angry bruises.

No matter how she lay, the skeletal bed pressed against her skin in the most uncomfortable way.

She cursed Steve as she slowly let the air out of her lungs in one deep breath. Focusing on the blackness above her, almost able to imagine the single naked bulb that hung from the ceiling.

If she imagined it swinging back and forth, she could almost forget the pain.

She wondered if that's what hypnotism was.

She wondered if Jane was rubbing off on her more than she thought.

Jane...

She felt like she had let him down. How could she have let someone get the drop on them? She was a CBI agent. Trained to be aware of these things.

If only she had been more diligent. Not let him walk her out. They wouldn't be in this position.

A small voice at the back of her head whispered to her, brought up other scenarios. She thought about how she would feel if she had come in to work to discover that Jane had been abducted.

It was then that she decided she would much rather be in this position than that.

At least in this way, she could deflect. Keep him safe. Protect him. That was her job, after all.

'To serve and protect.'

Words she lived by.

She almost laughed aloud. If she were honest with herself, she would know that it was much more than duty that motivated her. Jane was much more than a duty.

Too much more.

And it scared her.

She felt his warmth beside her, heard his light breathing in the stillness of the air. Remembered his harsh breathing earlier, the desperation in his eyes, the pleading in his voice.

The pain of blow after blow. The feeling of relief.

That it was her and not him.

Her roiling thoughts must have been distracting—the next thing she knew, she was stirring, coming up from slumber. Blinking her eyes open, she was confronted with another pair. Jane's.

Watching her. His gaze was soft, tender. Up close, she could see the network of lines at the corners of his eyes—laugh lines that had worry lines mapped on them. A testament to his life. She fought the urge to run her fingers over them. Over his lips. Over his scratchy chin, She couldn't help it.

She felt a smile grow at the idea of Jane with a beard. He raised a brow in silent question and she decided to share.

"I haven't seen you so scruffy—except for when you try to manipulate me in one of your plans."

His brow furrowed. "I don't manipulate you. And I'm not scruffy."

She laughed. "Jane, you _do_ manipulate me. Everyone knows it. Even the mail room guy."

Her laugh died when he brushed some of her hair behind her ear. She wasn't sure what to make of that. Especially in a situation like this, where nothing was exactly normal. He sighed and they were so close that she felt the warmth of his breath puff against her cheek.

"I don't want to manipulate you."

She frowned at him playfully. "Don't be silly. Of course you do. That's just what you do."

"Is that all I do, Lisbon?" Surprisingly, he sounded a little lost. Giving in to her urge, she reached up and ran a finger across the stubble on his cheek, feeling it scratch against her skin before she pulled back.

"You're getting maudlin in your old age, Jane." Her flippancy did nothing to abate the serious intensity in his expression. Now it was her turn to sigh. Did the man have to be so serious in situations like this? And why couldn't some of this seriousness seep over into their everyday cases? Really... "Jane. If all you did was manipulate people, me specifically, then you can bet your ass that I wouldn't keep you around."

"Even if I close cases like a fiend?"

"Contrary to popular belief, I will not give up anything simply to have you there to close cases. And, for the record, we closed cases before you and could do it again without you." She poked a finger into his chest for emphasis.

She knew he was seeking reassurance, testing the waters. Seeing if she blamed him for what had happened yesterday. In an odd, roundabout way.

"But you amuse Cho so it'd be nice to keep you around a bit longer, I think," she said casually, turning away from him, ignoring the way his eyes were glued to her profile. Did he have to stare?

"Lisbon. About yesterday..."

She was done with these serious conversations. Especially if they were going to talk about something without talking about it. A woman could only handle so much.

"Jane, do what you want with Genny. Don't worry about me." She sat up gingerly, feeling her sore muscles protest. "Got it?"

"Don't be stupid."

Jane's voice was surprisingly harsh and she stiffened a he continued.

"I'm not going to sit around and watch you get hurt. Do you have any idea how important you are?"

She didn't move. Didn't turn to face him. Didn't hunch her shoulders to block his words.

In all honesty, she had never expected that. The silence stretched and she could tell the exact moment that his words sunk into his consciousness.

"The team would never forgive me."

Ah...the team. Of course. She wondered if mentalists could tell when they themselves were using emotional defense mechanisms. Then she guessed it didn't matter if they knew or not as long as they kept using them.

She decided to go out on a limb. She had done that a lot for this man... "The only forgiveness you need, Jane, is from yourself."

She was about to climb out of the bed, shackles and bruises be damned, when the light touch of his hand on her shoulder stopped him.

"I think I need yours, Lisbon."

Now she did turn to face him. What? Her forgiveness? For what?

Before the conversation could go further, the door swung open energetically, banging loudly against the wall.

Lisbon looked at the figure in the door and felt weary already.

Couldn't life give them a break?


	10. Out of Sight

Forgot to mention this, but big thanks to Kathi-ann who prompted me to get back to writing this!

Hope you guys understand this chapter. It was a bit hard to write, but I feel that this is the way it had to be. Thanks for all of the encouragement!

**Chapter Ten: Out of Sight**

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It was a little scary how easy it was for him to slip back into his stage persona.

But, then, he supposed he had never fully slipped out of it. After all, he had maintained that flair for drama, the excitement (if not _more_ excitement), the thrill…it was relatively easy to do so at the CBI.

Maybe he had been lying to himself when he insisted that he had given up the show.

Because here he was, years later, and it was still as easy to wear that persona as it was for him to wear a three piece suit.

Really, he blamed his father. Warped at a young age and all.

But it didn't help that in assuming this persona, the identity of a glamorous psychic, Jane felt as if the mantle of guilt grew tenfold, weighing down on his shoulders. It was this identity of his that got his family killed.

That could get Lisbon killed.

He had liked to think that he would laugh in Red John's face when they finally met. Scorn the murderer. Show him only contempt.

But if he had learned anything from this time locked in a cell with Lisbon, it was that he was kidding himself. If it came down to it, he would beg pitifully for Lisbon's life. Just like he would have begged that night years ago, had he been home. He would have begged, pleaded, done _anything_ to save them.

And he would for Lisbon, too.

Even if it meant pretending to be psychic.

His voice was calm when he spoke, belying none of his inner turmoil. He could feel Lisbon's gaze on him, intent and worried. He could almost taste the frenetic energy of the woman in front of him. The stalwart presence of the man by the door.

"Take a deep breath, Genny. Think of Paddy. Your favorite memory of him."

He waited a moment. It was all about timing.

"Yes, you always liked how he looked that day. Happy, carefree."

Jane reached over and grasped Genny's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze as he had for countless other clients. "Keep that image in your mind. Imagine him just like that, standing here in the room with us."

"I will." The woman sounded so earnest, so trusting. Like a child. It was hard for Jane to reconcile the woman before him with the woman who had broken down, shaking Lisbon violently. He knew—more than most—that a person could have two different personalities. He hated that he couldn't predict Genny's, though. And that the consequences could rain on Lisbon.

"He's—" Jane paused, sucking in a quick breath as if he had encountered something strange, foreign. Yes, it really was funny how quickly he got back into the swing of it. "He's here. Do you feel him?"

Genny's eyes were liquid as they centered on Jane, her voice choked when she answered. "Yes. I do. I feel him."

"It's been a long time, Genny. He's missed you. But he's worried."

Jane's voice was soothing, caring. Genny nodded. "I know."

"He wants you to be happy, Genny. He needs you to get over his death."

"I know. I just—I _can't_," she cried, tears overflowing onto her cheeks. Jane made the snap decision that now would not be the time to push her. He took a shuddering breath, wondering idly what Lisbon thought of his show. He was a bit ashamed to perform like this in front of her. To blatantly go against everything he had adamantly condemned. To show the strong, honest, hardworking woman exactly what kind of charlatan he had been.

He squeezed Genny's hand again. "He's gone, Genny."

"What? Why? No!"

Jane locked eyes with her, trying to calm her before she got too worked up. "It's been a long time, Genny. It's hard work communicating between sides. Tiring. He needs time. _I_ need time."

Genny subsided, nodding. "Of course. How silly of me. We'll try again tomorrow. Rest."

The woman stood, wiping at the wetness on her cheeks as she composed herself. She walked to the door and Steve put an arm around her before casting a suspicious glance to Jane. As the tall man was ushering his mother out, he took a moment to look back at the woman on the bed. Jane hated what he saw in the man's eyes.

The door shut and Jane stared down at the ground, almost scared to look at the petite brunette sharing the room with him. Her voice drifted to him.

"I'm sorry you had to do that, Jane. I know how much you despise it."

He looked up, surprised. She didn't sound disgusted. She sounded sympathetic, guilty. Why should she feel guilty?

"No need to apologize, Lisbon. I chose to."

"To keep me from Steve," she responded bitterly. He stood and walked to her, hearing the springs of the bed creak as he sat beside her. He didn't voice his concerns about not being able to keep Lisbon from the man. How he was worried that soon Steve wouldn't let anything stop him…the look in the man's eyes.

No. He didn't say any of that. Tentatively, still a little shook up from having Lisbon see him like that, he lifted an arm and put it around her shoulders. He felt her warmth through the thin fabric of her clothes and imagined that some of her goodness could transfer to him through osmosis.

If only.

"If it keeps you safe, Lisbon, anything is worth it."

He glanced down to see the side of her mouth kick up in the classic Lisbon half-smile. He couldn't stop his responding smile any more than he could stop himself from asking, "What?"

"Funny. I feel the same way about you."

It was the most they'd ever said about their feelings toward one another. Jane wasn't stupid—far from it. He knew that he was in denial. He just couldn't face Lisbon the way she deserved. He couldn't cope with the idea that facing her would be turning his back on his wife and child.

Dead wife and child.

Facing Lisbon would mean turning his back on revenge. On Red John.

That would a big mistake. People like Red John shouldn't be allowed out of sight.

So Jane was running, trying to keep Red John in his line of sight. And he knew that in doing so, Lisbon was getting further and further away. That she _had_ to get further and further away. He had to leave her behind.

He closed his eyes and almost imperceptibly leaned his cheek into her hair.

But when he thought that this might be it for them, he found his stride faltering, his pace slowing. He didn't want to leave her behind. He wanted to be there with Lisbon.

And it was precisely those two conflicting emotions that kept him from responding to her.

He just couldn't.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.


	11. Good Enough

So the timeline may seem crazy (as in non-existent), but that's partially because it must be hard to keep track of all of that in a dank cell. I'm trying to keep it under their perspectives, but I will likely address the time issue next chapter. Also, I maintain that Jane has blue eyes. So there.

And thanks for sticking with the fic!! I really appreciated it, even if I don't have time to pm everyone.

I don't know if I ever had a disclaimer, but I think it goes without saying that I don't own them.

**Chapter Eleven: Good Enough**

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Lisbon closed her eyes, trying to ignore the feel of his touch as it slid across her skin.

"So beautiful."

The warm fingers glided across her face: brow line to cheek, cheek to lips, lips to chin. They moved next to her throat and she tried to think of something—_anything—_else. As the touch moved even lower, she heard the protest of her companion.

"Don't touch her."

The hand stopped mid-caress and Lisbon looked up at the face looming above her. Dark eyes were fixed on her face. Steve's eyes. So different from the blue of Jane's gaze. The man in front of her look transfixed and she wondered idly—stupidly—why normal guys couldn't look that taken with her. Why was it always the crazy criminals? She sighed inwardly. She probably wouldn't respond well to that kind of creepy adoration even from a 'normal' guy.

Steve seemed to snap back from whatever happy trance he had worked himself into. He turned to Jane and Lisbon tensed. Not good.

"Why? She's not your woman, is she, psychic man?"

Lisbon knew it took Jane a lot of effort not to flinch at that appellation.

"No woman deserves that kind of pawing, no matter if she's mine or not," Jane responded condescendingly. If the concrete wall were closer, Lisbon just might bang her own head into it a few times. No way was Jane speaking in such a way to one of their captors. Really. He couldn't be. "If this is how you act, no wonder you have to abduct a lady to get her to even look at you."

He could. He was. Shit.

To her surprise, though, Steve began laughing. "Sadly, you're wrong, Mr. Jane; however, Teresa is unlike the normal women who fawn over me. And I find I have quite enjoyed her spunk over the weeks that you were under surveillance. Funny, but even though I was watching you, it seems she was never too far."

His dark eyes remained fixed on the blond consultant as he spoke again. "How 'bout that?"

Lisbon could admit grudgingly that, had she met him outside in the real world, she may be one of those women who didn't know the truth about Steve. Who thought him handsome. She shuddered.

She hated moments like these. Moments when she realized just how easy it was to never know someone's true character unless the perfect situation hit or they wanted to show that personality.

At least Jane was rather open about his ruthlessness and contempt. Oh, it was easy for her to forget sometimes, but he had always been surprisingly open with her about his plans.

Jane didn't answer Steve and the man turned back to her. "You didn't know I watched you, did you? That I know you."

He reached out, ghosting his fingers across her hair. "And you're beautiful."

She held his gaze, neither defiant nor submissive. As if she were taking his measure and he came up lacking. His gaze hardened and he grasped her chin, leaning down to press his lips to her. She froze, trying very hard to not react. She knew it could only cause damage to either her or Jane. Besides, if all he wanted was a kiss, she wouldn't risk broken bones over it.

His other hand slid down from her shoulder. When it touched her breast, she jerked back, unable to keep the disgusted look from her face. Steve was breathing harshly, looking down at her. "I'm not good enough for you?"

Lisbon weighed her options. Shit. This was gonna be rough. She couldn't resist too violently or the consequences could be disastrous. Nor could she encourage him. "I don't know you beyond what I've seen here. You've kidnapped a state agent and a state freelancer. You've held us against our will, beat me, chained us up. How would I ever think you're good?"

She knew he didn't like his answer. She also knew there was nothing he could dispute. He was backed into the proverbial corner. She could only hope that he didn't lash out like a caged animal.

She rather thought he would, though.

He backed up, hands fisted. "So who's good, huh?"

He jabbed a finger in Jane's direction. "_That_ guy?"

"The one who's _skills_," Steve sneered the word out, "got his family killed. Ruined peoples' lives. Made them think they could still have their loved ones. Stopped them from getting over the pain. My mother's stuck in the past thanks to him. His family is buried in a grave thanks to him. And you're here thanks to him. So is he good enough for you?"

Steve leaned forward and Lisbon tensed even more (if that were possible). "You giving him what you don't give anyone else?"

She didn't answer. Just looked at him, uncaring of any defiance that crept in. Steve exhaled deeply, let out a curse, and fled the room. The slamming door echoed behind him.

Lisbon's muscles relaxed. She let her head fall back, eyes on the ceiling. "Well, that could have been worse."

A smirk fell across her lips as she looked to Jane. She could tell his muscles were still tense from straining against his bonds. She nearly rolled her eyes. Was it going to be another of his deathly serious moments? Yeah, it was a serious situation, but she could only handle so much gravity...

Suddenly, he chuckled ruefully. "Yes, I suppose it could have been."

Neither of them spoke what was on their minds:

That it was going to get worse.

And soon.


	12. Something Like Love

A little Jisbon snuck in here. ;P Hope you enjoy it.

**Chapter Twelve: Something like love**

* * *

"No, Paddy," Genny sobbed. "Please don't leave me."

"I'm sorry." Jane hoped he didn't sound as weary as he felt. "He's gone."

A sobbing Genny ran past her son and disappeared from sight. Jane sighed. A week of this: pretending to be something he wasn't. Misleading this woman. Steve's cold eyes watched him from the doorway, like usual.

Almost two weeks in this dank basement. Jane wondered what the team was doing. If they had even made it through half of his client roster. Poor Van Pelt must be shattered...Jane only hoped that Rigsby was comforting her, that it made the two of them stronger. _Something_ good should come from the bad.

Sadly, Jane knew that wasn't always the case. In fact, that was rare. Silver linings were harder to find than those dragons and wizards that had populated his daughter's storybooks.

Steve's voice drew him from his thoughts. "You know, it wasn't always like this. _She_ wasn't always like this."

Lisbon remained silent, watchful. Jane met the man's gaze, keeping his expression open.

"Hell, even _I_ wasn't always the way you see me." His laugh was bitter. "I can remember being a normal family. And even when Paddy died, we were sad, but grieving. Normal."

Steve pushed away from the wall, starting to pace. "Then she heard of you. The great Patrick Jane. Charming with soulful eyes. Psychic. Able to contact those who had passed."

Jane didn't respond. It didn't matter. Steve continued. He obviously needed to get it all out. "She became obsessed with getting Paddy back in some way. She would pay anything, _give_ anything. And then you were gone. Out of the public's eye."

Jane watched as Steve slowed his pace when he passed in front of Lisbon. Though he wanted nothing more than to drag Lisbon away, keep her safe from Steve, he knew that they were stuck. So he just watched, trying not to exacerbate the problem.

"It was worse. It was way worse. She became someone else. I didn't recognize my own mother. Tried to kill herself, you know." Strange, the way that Steve's voice was so conversational. Only one of the clues that his mother wasn't the only one who changed.

Steve stopped, leaning once more against the wall, returning to watching them. "I've done everything I can to keep her happy. Keep her alive. That's why I had to take you. She was losing it, Mr. Jane."

"What would you do to keep the only one you have left alive?"

Finally, Jane spoke. In his mind, he saw the face of his child. Of his wife. "More than you know."

Jane didn't know how his words affected the man in front of him, but mere seconds later Steve was leaving. As the door clicked shut, he looked over to Lisbon. He was no longer surprised by how her soft smile kept him going. How her green eyes gave him that little bit of strength.

She spoke. "You're not like him. Not like Steve. Not like Red John."

Jane swallowed. He wondered if she was wearing down his defenses because he found himself wanting to believe those words. He went to the bed and sat beside her. The warm skin of her hand brushed his fingers, offering brief comfort before she pulled away. Reacting quickly, Jane grabbed her hand, winding his fingers through hers.

It was a weakness, but Jane knew better than anyone that he was a weak man. The feeling of her skin against his gave him strength.

If he wasn't careful, he'd get addicted.

They sat in silence again.

"I know you won't believe me, but it's not your fault. None of it."

And with those words, he knew he would never feel free. Because he would always feel at fault. Lisbon's hand moved within his...but maybe he would learn to live with that. After all, who didn't feel guilt?

Lisbon—the strongest person he knew—even felt it. Often felt it. He saw it in her whole demeanor.

Maybe he could follow her image.

The first step in dealing with it, living with it, would be to get out of this alive. To get Lisbon out. To find Red John. Find justice.

Then to figure out if he could remember what it felt like to live. To really _live_.

He had a inkling that it had something to do with the feeling of Lisbon's hand in his.

He could be wrong—it had been a very long time—but he thought it felt something like love.


	13. Sand and Waves

Okay, I am officially a bad person. Look at how long it took to update! Wait- no. Don't look. It's shameful. I'm really very sorry. I wish I could say that another UD is on the way, but until June 5, school is a constant, crazy source of busyness. I _will_ continue and eventually finish. Promise.

This chapter dedicated to Tromana, Divinia, and Kathi-Ann, who write amazing stories that keep me on my toes...the entire fic (reminder) is for Tromana. Thanks for introducing me to the nuanced art of angst. ;P

**Chapter Thirteen: Sand and Waves**

Lisbon closed her eyes, imagining herself anywhere but where she was at the moment. Lips grazed her neck as hands clasped her closer.

She felt the rope cut into her wrists as she moved against her constraints. Idly, she thought about the pain her shoulders were in from having her arms tightly bound behind her. If she concentrated hard enough, she could almost ignore the grasping hands. One minute smoothing along her back, the next squeezing her hip.

Gliding up her ribs.

_She imagined the beach. She had always liked the beach._

Sliding through her hair.

_The giant—if lopsided—sandcastle that she had made. Her mother had been so impressed._

Caressing her neck.

_Sand between her toes. Well, sand everywhere actually. Even in the car. Her dad had grumbled about it for weeks._

Grazing her breasts.

_How small she had felt in the waves of the ocean. How vast the water was._

Pressing against the small of her back.

_The sound. The smell. Soothing, tangy. Her brother chasing her further out into the water. Being pulled into a current._

Moving lower...

_Feeling lost and yet at home. All at once. Until her dad had pulled her back to familiarity. Always wondering what would be out there._

Hands fumbling at the fastening of her pants as lips moved onto hers insistently.

_Water droplets flying as she shook her head, blinking as it streamed down her face. Her mother smiling down at her. Until suddenly she wasn't._

Jane's protests and the rattling of chains as he strained from the other wall towards her—just out of reach—interrupted her concentration and Lisbon found herself annoyed with him. She had worked hard to block it all out. Now, she felt the weight of the man on her, remembered his words.

"_Let's not cause trouble. I wouldn't want to have to hurt either of you."_

Lisbon was enough of a cop to know that he would go for Jane first. Steve's crayon box may be a couple colors short of the rainbow, but he was not stupid. He knew that Lisbon cared for Jane. That Lisbon took her position as a cop, as a protector, very seriously.

Jane's words became clearer. "If you go any further, Steve, I swear that I will kill you someday."

Steve froze above her, and then pulled back, studying her face. She remained relatively stoic, but her eyes glared up at him. He caressed her hair before turning to Jane.

"You think _you_ could kill me?" His voice was incredulous. Jane's gaze didn't waver.

"Contrary to what you obviously think, murder does not always require physical strength." The words were coldly calculating and Lisbon remembered another day in her office. Another declaration of murderous intent. It shook her that she was the reason for it this time.

She didn't want to be.

Steve was obviously a bit unnerved by the intensity of Jane's eyes and words. He turned back to Lisbon and brushed his lips on hers, ignoring her flinch. "Another time. Without an audience, perhaps."

And then he was gone, door shut behind him. Lisbon stared forward for a moment, mentally composing herself. The she stood and went to Jane where he was tied to the chair with ropes around his torso. She knelt with her back to him so he could free her hands and then quietly untied him from the chair. Without a word, she turned to the bed that her ankle was still chained to, intent on trying to sleep—a respite from this life (if you could call it that) they were living.

Before she could lay on the rickety bed, hands grasped her shoulders. Involuntarily, she tensed for a moment, recalling another's touch. This grasp turned her and then she was looking at Patrick Jane's chest.

"Lisbon. Are you okay?"

From his voice, she knew he was worried. Maybe he was wondering if she had snapped...And she knew she was about to.

Her explosion seemed all the more dynamic because of her silence. "What the hell were you thinking, Jane?"

Her hands were splayed on his chest as she pushed him away from her. He didn't respond.

"Do you know what he could have done to you? If I have to go through—well, _that_ to keep you—us—safe, then I will. Don't be stupid."

Her words were harsh, anger practically making the sound of them shimmer in the air. She couldn't stop herself from pounding on his chest, though ineffectually. What if she had lost him?

His hands covered hers, holding them still. She froze, breathing heavily. He pulled her closer. "Even if you're better at protecting people, I still have to try. In my own way."

She sighed, finally letting him pull her against him. Metal clanked as their ankles brushed each other. She rested her forehead on his chest. "It won't help, Jane. He could kill you and then where would I be? Alone with this psycho."

She felt his chest expand as he took a deep breath and let it out. "Okay. Maybe you're right this once. But, Lisbon, I can't let him do that to you. I think it would break me to watch."

She didn't answer. She wondered if there was something a person was supposed to say in this situation. Damn, maybe she should have watched more Lifetime movies...

She decided to ignore that part and answered his earlier question. "I'm fine."

His hands pulled her face up from his chest so she was looking up at him. He leaned down and his forehead touched hers and stayed.

"He can't touch you. If he does, I will kill him."

She closed her eyes. It felt like all of her senses were concentrated on that one part where they were connected. Nothing existed but them. Foreheads touching like a chaste kiss.

"Please don't say things like that. Not about this. Not about me." Her words were a whisper. "_That_ I can't handle."

It was his turn to go without responding. She moved her head searchingly, eyes still closed, nuzzling against him in an automatic gesture as if they had done this thousands of times. Instead of just one.

She continued. "I want to help you. Not hurt you."

If she hadn't been so focused on him, she may not have noticed it. A brush of his lips against the corner of her closed eye, where the laugh lines stemmed from. Gentle. So gentle, so barely there, that she could convince herself it hadn't happened if she wanted to.

She wasn't sure what she felt about that.

As they settled on the bed, his arms moved around her in a strange way that never would have happened mere weeks ago but now felt necessary. She wondered how Jane felt about sand.

And waves.

And the unfamiliar feeling somehow all too right.


	14. Footprints

A short update. I had another plan for this chapter, but then I started wondering about some logistics, lol, and had to do this one. It's a bit short. :D Sadly, I can't live up to Tromana's update rate, which is insane (so everyone should go read her stories).

Thanks for all of the support. I have to say that I wrote another chapter because of xxxBekaForEvaxxx's prompting. Sorry if this has been disappointing for any of you (due to my slow updates).

**Chapter Fourteen: Footprints**

Jane lay facing the wall, back to Lisbon as she took her turn with a sponge bath.

He really couldn't wait to take a shower when they got out. And they would. He was grimly determined. He couldn't let Lisbon stay here for much longer.

Now he just had to figure out how to get out.

The sound of water and rustling was almost hypnotic and he felt himself drifting away into his thoughts, comforted by the mundane movements of Lisbon behind him.

_He looked down into sparkling blue eyes that peeked out from a cap of curls._

_A giggle echoed through the air and suddenly he felt warm, as if he were curled up on a couch with a blanket and hot chocolate._

_Strange. He hadn't felt that in a long time. He knew something was wrong here…_

_He blinked and the child in front of him was gone. He felt panic creep in as he frantically searched the room around him._

_The wall in front of him gave way as a wave crashed into it, leaving him standing on a beach. Small footprints on the ground in front of him, leading away._

_He couldn't remember what he had been looking for a moment ago. Something important…_

_He wanted to follow the path of the footprints, but his feet couldn't move. He tried to lift a foot, but it was heavy—as if chained to something. The panic was getting overwhelming and he wondered if he would stop breathing._

_He needed to find it. Him. Her. Find something. What was that? He needed to remember what was lost._

_He needed…_

_He felt a soft touch on his forehead and his lungs seemed to expand, losing that tight feel. The smooth hand left his face and slid into his own hand, giving it a gentle squeeze._

_He opened his eyes._

"Jane."

Jane blinked up into Lisbon's green eyes. He couldn't believe he had drifted into slumber. That wasn't like him.

"Yes, Lisbon?"

She looked at him silently for a moment. He wondered if she knew he had been sleeping. For once, he wondered what she was thinking.

He needed to get out of here. Look what it was doing to his observation skills.

She opened her mouth to respond, and then shut it abruptly. He furrowed his brow, about to question her. She cut him off. "Your turn to wash up."

He was almost positive that wasn't what she was going to say.

He let it go.

Because he was also pretty sure that she was the one who held on to him.

And her hand in his—even if it was a dream—was enough for now.


	15. A Chance

A very short chapter to transition to the next. So sorry about the delay, but my hope is to finish this story over the next week. I am FINALLY home! Yay for all of my stuff (especially my own computer!).

Thanks to everyone who kept up with this story. I appreciate it more than you know.

**Chapter Fifteen: A Chance**

Lisbon watched Jane weigh his options.

Genny wanted him to go upstairs with her. See if he could _feel_ Paddy better. Steve was standing silently by the door. Lisbon was really getting tired of being the damsel in distress. It didn't sit well with her.

Briefly, she wondered if she would ever get out of here. She forcefully pushed that thought far, far away. No need to be fatalistic. The situation was dire enough.

Jane must have decided not to resist what Genny wanted because he nodded and stood. Lisbon watched Steve move forward and efficiently remove the shackles from Jane only to replace them with handcuffs. She felt a small glimmer of hope. Jane and handcuffs. He had been a carnie—was much like a magician…didn't they always break free from cuffs?

And if anyone would break free from constraints, it would be Jane. She knew better than anyone just how much he wanted to be unfettered.

Which was exactly why she had always resisted that intense _pull_ toward him. Why she always heard his voice in her head when she felt the need to act on her desire, her feelings: _it's the way of the world…_

And then she had to ignore the response. The little voice from deep inside her: isn't that why she became a cop? To change the way the world was…to make a difference. It was hard to convince herself that she couldn't make a difference with Jane. So hard that, most of the time, she didn't even know if she believed it.

Steve pushed Jane to the door as Genny led the way out. Jane's blue eyes were bright as he met her gaze as if communicating silently.

She knew this was the best chance for any sort of freedom and hoped Jane got the hell out if he had the chance.

Somehow, she knew that wouldn't happen. He wouldn't leave her behind.

Even if it was the best option. For both of them.


	16. Need

Well, this took a turn I didn't expect. I was seriously intending Lisbon to be the hero (maybe she still will be…), but a story does as it will, I suppose. I just wrote it and posted immediately so I hope it's readable.

Thanks for all of the reviews! And the crazy amount of people who've 'alert'ed the story (112!).

**Chapter Sixteen: Need**

Jane hoped he didn't look as on edge as he felt. Normally, he would have no problems with this situation. Taking everything in, looking for the right time, executing some kind of plan that would get what he wanted.

But he had been in that room for weeks. He was worried that his observational skills were no longer what they could be. Funny, he hadn't really doubted himself before…aside from when his family was killed. Then, the stakes had become too much. And now…

The stakes were terrifying. He had to do this for Lisbon. This could be their only chance. _Her_ only chance. And he needed her to live. More than he needed anything else. He almost stopped walking when the shock of his own thoughts hit him. He needed her to live more than he needed revenge. He needed her.

Genny lead him up a set of stairs, Steve at his back like the good guard dog. The door opened and Jane went through, squinting at the bright daylight that streamed through the ground floor of the house he stood in. This wouldn't do. He forced himself not to squint. The urge was almost overwhelming, but he needed his eyes to adjust. He couldn't have anything become an obstacle to his—_their_—escape, least of all his own body.

He followed the blurred shadow that was Genny, looking for all the world as if he had been to this place before, was comfortable in the space. She led them through rooms and Jane made sure to memorize the path. Eventually, the bright white around his peripheral vision began to fade. It seemed like hours, but he was sure it was only minutes. He absently wondered if he skin would be equally sensitive to UV rays after being in that basement room for so long. He hadn't had sunburn since he was a kid…

He mentally shook himself. Focus.

Genny stopped in front of him. Jane was sure that the room had once been a living room. Clearly at the front of the house, furniture arranged in a manner that suggested family use, entertaining people.

It was just as clear that no one besides Genny or Steve had been here in a very long time.

Except maybe Paddy.

The walls were almost covered with photographs of him. Memories from a previous life tickled Jane's mind. He remembered seeing images of this man. Now he had a face to put to the personality he had been living down there in the basement.

No wonder Genny couldn't let Paddy go.

Jane saw himself for a minute in this sad woman who couldn't truly grieve because she couldn't accept reality.

A faded red smiley face on a blank wall flashed through his mind's eye.

Jane's experienced gaze captured the details of a football trophies from years past. Report cards littering the book shelves. Artwork created by an amateur hand. Mother's day cards given by a young man. And everywhere the smiling face looking out at them.

Then it was as if everything was hyperclear. The soft blue of the carpet that covered the ground. The lightly textured walls beneath photos both framed and simply tacked up. The crack on the top of the coffee table. The large window.

No noticeable neighbors. Just a wooded area. Seemingly secluded. A dirt driveway was just barely visible.

"Please bring Paddy back to me."

Jane looked at Genny's face. It was so serene, so plaintive. He remembered seeing that look on his daughter. A child asking for another cookie.

A woman asking for her dead son.

How was there such a world where one look could mean two very divergent things?

Jane closed his eyes and went through the motions. He would carry the pretense as long as he needed to, as long as he could.

This was the best session yet. If he had still been the man he once was, he would be proud. On cloud nine. Arrogantly assured. Instead, he was just relieved. He used every ounce of knowledge that he had gained from this room to keep Genny enraptured.

And he felt pity. This woman needed help. He wondered what she had been like once upon a time. Before she had met him. Before her son had died. She had probably been one of those mothers who went to her knitting club a couple times a week to bond with other women like her. Homemade lunches. Cleaning the house on Saturday. Warm meal for her husband at night.

So very different than the woman she was now. Friends pushed away. Husband and son gone.

It was about ten minutes before he realized that Steve was no longer behind him. In fact, Steve was no longer with them at all. Genny had turned to look at a portrait of Paddy, focused on the image of her son rather than her captive.

His body went cold. _Lisbon_…

Jane's hands twisted, once with worry, then with intent. It had been a while, but he had hung out with every carnie in the group as a young boy, soaking up all the knowledge that he could.

In moments, he was free, his calm voice belying none of his struggle. He regretted what he was about to do. He didn't strike women, but this was an extreme circumstance.

The sound of Genny's body hitting the floor was soft, a mere thud against carpet. Jane hoped that Steve hadn't noticed it. If the man was where Jane thought he was, there was probably only one thing Steve was noticing right now. And it had nothing to do with his mother.

Jane's hands fisted and he wanted nothing more than to storm off, but he forced himself to think logically. Using what he found in the house, he secured Genny. Methodically, he found the landline and dialed 911, leaving it lying on the kitchen counter off the hook. A cell phone was lying next to the microwave and Jane dialed a number he hadn't keyed in for near a month. When the voice answered, Jane spoke and then set it back down next to the microwave.

"Cho, we need you."

Ignoring the frantic voices pouring out of the phones from their perch on the counter, Jane turned to the door that led to his prison.

He needed Lisbon.

And no one was taking her away from him.

Steve was going to pay for touching her.


	17. Victim

Here's the next chapter. Ugh, hope it's not crap. That was hard.

**Chapter Seventeen: Victim**

Jane was only gone for minutes when the door creaked back open. Lisbon wasn't really surprised. She knew how to read a criminal. It was her job, after all.

Well, had been. Was it technically her job if she hadn't done it for weeks? Was she only the Job? Where did the Job end? Where did she begin?

She _was_ surprised when Steve sat backwards on the chair on the other half of the room, staring at her. She refused to cower from him, to avert her gaze like the captive she was. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe she was prodding a beast. But mostly, she found that she didn't do submissive very well.

The odd staring contest only continued for a minute, two tops. Then he smiled at her. She shuddered internally, thinking that were it not for the situation—were they not here, captor and captive—she may actually find that smile rather charming. Oh, _ew._ Well, she had never been the best judge of characters. And she seemed to attract people that were off-kilter. Her own _father_ had been off, a broken man.

It didn't escape her notice that she was falling (had fallen, if she were honest with herself) for a broken man. She just couldn't seem to play it safe. Not with her career choice. Not with her emotions.

Steve shifted in the chair and spoke. "You'll get used to it. Really, you will. And maybe someday you'll learn to care for me as I care for you."

She didn't need to ask what 'it' was. As a law enforcement officer who also happened to be a woman, she had often been assigned the task of dealing with victims of rape. She knew exactly what could happen between a man as sick as Steve and a woman captive.

She wondered if she'd be able to hide it from Jane.

Silly question. He was too good at what he did. She sighed. Damn it. There really wasn't anything she could do. She knew shaking her chains, straining against bonds, wouldn't help. If she resisted too much, Steve would either hurt Jane or give her a good knock on the head. What could she do if she was half conscious?

Steve stood and approached, slowly but with intent. When his hand touched her shoulder, she flinched involuntarily. Something cold and steely shifted in Steve's eyes.

"Just think, Teresa, we wouldn't want Mr. Jane to have an accident, now would we?"

Lisbon knew firsthand exactly what kind of accidents Jane could get into and she was certain nothing about Steve's implication could be labeled as such.

As Steve's hands started to bare more of her skin, she closed her eyes and thought of Jane. Breathing, alive. With the chance of moving on.

She hoped that he took out Genny and got the hell out of there. If there was a chance, now was it. He just needed to take it.

She remembered the golden glint of his wedding ring. A chance to move on…if there was ever someone who wouldn't—maybe _couldn't_—take that chance, it would be him.

It surprised her how much that hurt her. Silly, really, when she already knew it. Had always known it. Had seen it written all over him when she had first met him.

So lost in her own feelings, she could almost block out the rough hands fondling her breasts, run over her torso. Then the hands reached her waistband and, quite suddenly, she felt very nauseous. She tried breathing exercises, envisioning herself anywhere but where she was.

Anywhere.

She didn't notice a distant thud above her. Tried very hard not to notice that her pants had been slid down to her ankles, acting as yet another restraint.

The wet, disgustingly hot breath on her neck.

The bite of metal into her wrists.

The heavy, smothering weight above her.

The urgent press of violation against her hip.

A finger hooked in the side of her panties, dragging down.

Thousands of images—case photographs, victims' faces—flashed through her mind, starting to spin like a kaleidoscope.

She closed her eyes and waited for the final invasion. She had sworn years ago to stop being the victim. To never be the victim again. Her father had died and she had done her best to keep that vow.

Looked like she might not succeed…


	18. The Butterfly Effect

Wow, this chapter was written in a whirlwind. Hope it's okay. Thanks so much to all of you for your comments on the last chapter. I know it was disturbing (and quite the cliffie-sorry!), but you were all wonderful in your responses. Glad you're enjoying (?) this fic!

**Chapter Eighteen: The Butterfly Effect**

When Jane had walked in on the dead bodies of his wife and child, his vision had been filled with the deep red that had spilled from their skin. That covered the floor.

The wall.

Then he had been swamped in black. The next thing he could really remember was white. The blinding white of the hospital and Sophie's voice bouncing off the sterile walls.

But now, he really understood what 'seeing red' meant.

Steve's hands on Lisbon's skin. Her slight frame being pressed to the bed.

All filtered through a haze of red.

_This_ was murderous rage. Had he been more coherent, he would have casually made that observation. Instead, it was as if his actions were involuntary. And they probably were.

Instinct.

It seemed instantaneous. Jane entered the room as Steve's hand went for Lisbon's panties. And then, as if from a distance, Jane heard the crash of wood and a repeating cadence.

It was a moment before he realized that the noise was from him. He had smashed the chair into Steve and couldn't seem to stop pounding into the man with what was left of the wooden chair. He couldn't stop and a small part of his brain clinically observed that if he continued on like this, Steve would die.

Lisbon's bared body flashed through his mind's eye. Red hot anger flared through him.

He remembered the bruises she had received at the hands of this maniac.

His breath came in harsh pants as he swung the wood once more.

He thought he could go on like this forever. Somehow, the image of a broken Lisbon was melding with the massacred bodies of his family.

No one was taking them away from him.

No one.

The two words became a sort of mantra as he swung the wooden fragment over and over.

"Jane."

Lisbon's voice was hoarse, as if she had been calling him for a long time. Her restraints rattled as she tried to move. Jane's movements slowed. It seemed like it had been hours, but it was more like minutes. His arms were suddenly tired.

"Jane. Stop."

He had never been described as obedient—well, maybe only for his father (he was a mean son of a bitch)—but, at Lisbon's words, his hands loosened and the chair fell to the floor.

Steve wasn't moving.

Jane looked down at him, but still could only see his slaughtered wife. His daughter's golden curls drenched in blood red. Dark bruises on Lisbon's creamy skin.

"Jane."

Lisbon's voice was insistent. Jane's crash back to earth was fast. He was breathing hard, harshly. He looked over to the woman he had been incarcerated with, the woman he unwillingly loved. He wasn't quite sure, but he thought he might feel shame.

He had just showed her how unhinged he was. How he really _could_ be a cold-blooded killer.

He had never tried to hide it. In fact, he was very open about it. But, somehow, he had always hoped she would never actually see it. He wanted to be what she deserved. He wanted to be good for her.

Even though he knew he could never be good enough for Teresa Lisbon.

When she looked at him, he felt as if he were destruction looking his victim in the face.

But he couldn't stop.

And now her eyes were soft. She spoke once more. "Jane, you need to unchain me."

He didn't respond, simply retrieved the keys from where they were hanging outside the door. How ironic. Freedom just beyond what had held them there. Cruel…

He unlocked her and she immediately began setting herself to rights—buttoning her shirt, pulling her pants into place. Jane felt frozen in place as Lisbon stood, checked Steve's pulse, and returned to grab his hand.

"He's alive. Come on, Jane, we have to go upstairs and either get out of here or get help."

He followed her rather docilely up the stairs.

"I called Cho. And 911."

She smiled back at him. "Good. Let's see if they're still on the line."

They were in the kitchen when they heard a clicking noise. Lisbon tensed. Jane was a mere second behind her. He hadn't worked with the law for as long as he had without recognizing such a sound.

How had Genny gotten free?

He turned, noting carefully that the back door was directly behind him now, unlocked. Genny stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, crazed look in her eyes, raw and bleeding wrists, shotgun in hand.

Really? Did it have to be a shotgun?

He almost sighed in weariness. Why the hell couldn't it be easy?

He figured it was because _he_ was there. If it were just Lisbon, he was pretty sure that her escape would be structured, somehow organized. Easy. Controlled.

It was him. He was the butterfly effect. The one that brought chaos.

"You can't leave," Genny said coldly. "If you leave, then Paddy will leave. I can't lose him again."

She walked closer. Closer and closer until the barrel of the gun was mere feet away. Jumping distance, really. Jane carefully began turning the knob of the door behind him.

When it would turn no longer, he pushed very lightly. Gently.

It might have gone unnoticed if not for the slight creak. Damn hinges. Genny's eyes went alert and Lisbon lunged forward, hands pushing the barrel.

"Go, Jane! I'll—ugh!" A short cry of pain and Jane was frozen once more. Then he was being pushed out the door. Lisbon must be okay. "Go, go! We have to get some cover in the woods."

He started running toward the trees, Lisbon at his back. From the rustling he heard behind them, he knew Genny had followed. She was disoriented from her head wound, though, so he and Lisbon were gaining some ground.

A sharp crack sounded as the shotgun went off again. Jane wanted to look behind, make sure Lisbon was alright, but he heard her feet hitting the ground and her panting breaths of air so he forged on.

They reached a dip in the ground, a fallen tree perfect for providing cover. He almost tripped as Lisbon snagged his arm and yanked him to the ground with her. He fell, body covering hers, faces an inch apart.

He couldn't resist. "Why, Lisbon, I don't really think this is the time for canoodling."

She rolled her eyes and he shifted to move off her. His hand lightly brushed her shoulder and she jerked, face twisting in a grimace. Instantly, he was gently running his hands along her arms, her torso, her shoulders, checking for a wound.

His hand came back sticky with blood.


	19. Grounded

Not as long as the last one, but we're getting there. Busy couple of days. Just wrote it so I hope it makes sense. Sorry about the delay!

**Chapter Nineteen: Grounded**

Lisbon tried for a comforting smile, but didn't think it hit its mark. Really, she didn't think it was that bad a wound. For a GSW, it was rather tame. Only a stinging in her shoulder. One that extended down her arm and across her torso with a sudden movement. But not that bad.

The only reason it worried her was because now was not a time for weakness of any sort. Not with the woman (who was clearly off her rocker) pursuing them. She ignored the concerned look on Jane's face and listened intently.

Another shot went off and chips of wood disengaged from the rotting tree that was their cover, flying through the air. Ignoring the burning pain, she shoved Jane to the ground beside her and crouched, trying to peek around brambles and broken branches. She took a deep breath.

"Genny!"

Silence for a minute.

Then another bullet creating a shower of dirt and wood. Lisbon felt something warm slide around her ankle under her pants. She glanced down. Couldn't be a snake, right? Weren't they cold? What _was_ that?

What she saw surprised her. Jane had wrapped a hand around her ankle, staring at her as if he would never let her go. As if he needed to be touching her to believe that she was there, alive, that she was still with him. As if she were grounding him.

She shook her head, dislodging such emotional thoughts. Now was a time for a level head. Too bad if she had been trying to tie Jane to the team's world—_her_ world—since she met him…

She cautiously leaned closer to the tree. "Genny, you need to stop shooting. If you hurt Jane too badly, he may die. And then you'll never reach Paddy again."

Silence. A choked sob. "I can't lose him. I can't."

Lisbon hoped that meant the gunfire would stop, but she wasn't quite sure where to go from there. Then she heard something from behind them. Tensing, she furtively searched the trees and brush. Damn it, she should have tied Steve up. No way was he standing after that beating.

…right?

She saw movement out of the corner of her eyes and peered into a shadowy pine. She was intensely aware of her unarmed state. The warm blood trickling down her arm, making her long for a hot shower.

Hell, weeks in that cave made her long for a hot shower. She wondered if God was cruel enough to let her die in this filthy condition. Sponge baths only did so much…

More shifting among the shadows. Her thoughts evaporated, leaving a focus she hadn't felt in a long while. It reminded her of a case. She realized it was a case—_hers. _

And then suddenly shadows turned to form.

Her breath caught as a figure started to emerge.

Surely she and Jane wouldn't die here.

Sunlight glinted on the metal of a handgun, so bright it blinded her momentarily and she squeezed her eyes shut. She recalled Steve's expertise with weapons, remembered wondering if he was a cop. Her stomach turned and she wasn't sure if it was disgust at the thought of Steve as a cop or if she was feeling the effects of her wound.

Well, she decided, if this was her last moment alive, she was gonna look Death (that son of a bitch) in the eye.

She took a shuddering breath and opened her eyes.


	20. Antithesis

As this fic is winding down, I have found myself thinking a lot about a sequel to Regrets (if any of you remember that from—what was it? A year ago?). So that may be next on the list. But first, a few more chapters of this, I think.

Thanks for all of the lovely reviews and the alerts and favorites, etc.

**Chapter Twenty: Antithesis**

Jane wasn't sure if he could speak yet. A litany of thoughts ran through his mind. Lisbon was hurt. Someone was behind them. Lisbon was hurt. They had to get away, had to escape.

Lisbon was hurt.

Jane felt it the moment Lisbon realized who was standing before them. He had the sneaky suspicion that her eyes had been closed to that point. He followed her gaze, feeling relief envelope him.

He didn't think he'd ever been so happy to see Cho.

The agent in question moved quietly, settling in beside them with a quiet efficiency that even Jane had almost forgotten. Damn, it was good to see him. "The place is surrounded. It should just be a minute now."

The status report was directed at Lisbon, as if this was a case they had been working on, as if the two of them hadn't been missing for weeks. Jane, about to comment, was pre-empted by a ruckus coming from near the house. Seconds later, precious words rang out.

"All clear."

Lisbon stood immediately. That had been Rigsby's voice. Jane's momentary distraction allowed enough time for Lisbon to slip back into senior agent mode. "Cho, there's a man in the basement, too. He was incapacitated, but not bound. We need some agents to apprehend him, but be careful."

She turned, about to head toward the house herself. Jane opened his mouth once more. Yet Cho must have noticed the blood that had bloomed across the fabric of her shirt. "Boss, you need the ambulance."

She looked as if she were about to dismiss him and Jane felt suddenly angry. Irrationally angry. "Do what the man says, woman."

She raised a brow at the intensity of his command and even he was sardonically amused at his own actions. She rolled her eyes. "Merely a flesh wound."

Jane almost couldn't believe it, but Lisbon winked and headed toward the medics. He turned to look at Cho, wondering if he had been seeing things.

"Monty Python," Cho said calmly, with almost no inflection. "Funny."

And then the CBI agent followed his boss, leaving a rather befuddled consultant behind. Cops really chose the strangest times to find humor…

Minutes later—or maybe it was hours?—Jane was hovering over Lisbon at the doors to the ambulance when they heard loud sobbing. Looking up, he saw that Steve was being hauled out of the house and Genny had spotted him from the back of a cop's car.

"Steve!" Genny's voice held a note of worry that only a mother could emit. For a moment, Jane wondered if she realized the extent of her actions. If she realized that in losing herself over the death of one son, she had effectively warped the other. Though Jane had no affection for the man (in fact, he strongly disliked Steve and probably would have killed him if Lisbon hadn't interfered), he knew that things could have gone differently for the Steve, _life_ could have gone differently. If only he had healthy support.

If his mother had learned to grieve, to let go. To heal.

Would Steve have found a woman to settle down with? Had kids? A normal life?

Or would he still have had that hidden depth? Would he have still been capable of such violence, such obsession?

Steve, cuffed and escorted by officers of the law, stumbled and looked up. The beaten man's eyes alighted on Lisbon, actually narrowing in what Jane thought may be concern. Odd, the human psyche. Steve's gaze transferred to Jane.

Rather than confront this man, Jane found himself turning away.

What would he himself have been like, after leaving that mental hospital, if he had not fallen into Lisbon's lap?

He knew he was capable of violence. Today, he had proved it. It was no secret that he had an obsession. How easily could his life be very different…

He rather thought that, without Lisbon, he would be wild, uncontrollable. Sure, practically the entire CBI thought he was already, but they would never know just how much Lisbon tamed him.

Even against his will. It was almost involuntary. He never _wanted_ to hurt Lisbon and so held himself in check, though sometimes his true self came through. And in times such as those, he was never more afraid. Such as when he told Lisbon his plans for Red John.

When he shared his breakdown.

How he verbally shredded the countless people who needed to know that they were slime.

When he warned her that he couldn't be fixed.

Each time, he couldn't hold back, couldn't stop himself from hurting Lisbon, from showing her what he was really like. And it terrified him.

Because he was _so scared_ that she would finally deem him not worthy of the effort, yet he couldn't stop it—couldn't hide who he was. But each time she surprised him by being there. It was as if she was the antithesis of Genny. She was never going to give up on justice.

On people.

On him.

And he could finally—_finally_—admit that he didn't want her to.


	21. Withdrawal

Ugh, I've had an annoying time of it in the last few days ($35,000 of funding for this next year fell through and I have only $1,000…trying to figure out what to do. Sigh). Sorry about the delay. This story is ALMOST DONE! Maybe two more chapters-ish?

For Tromana, Queen of Angst and Updating.

**Chapter Twenty-one: Withdrawal**

Lisbon and Jane had been tested to kingdom come and back.

Although it had seemed to take forever, she was happy beyond belief to be safe in her familiar home. Laying in the dark on her bed (why did it suddenly seem too soft and pliant?), she stretched in contentment.

Oh, it was good to be home.

Even though her place seemed extremely large, so open. She stared into the darkness of her room, seeing the dark shadow that was her open door. She quelled the urge to go shut it.

No, she had been shut in a room for far too long. It was ridiculous to feel weird now that she had lots of space and freedom to move around in.

She shifted. She couldn't seem to get comfortable in her bed. Her room was so…so _quiet_.

No creaking springs.

No clanking chains.

No pattern of breathing from the person lying right next to her.

Actually, no one lying right next to her.

Finally—was it hours later?—she dozed. Only to startle herself awake when she unconsciously reached out, hands seeking, and discovered that the space beside her was empty.

God, she was so frustrated with herself. Irritated, she slammed her fists to the mattress, wincing when the sharp movement pulled at her bandages. Pressing the heels of her palms to her eyes, she breathed deeply. It wasn't as if she had never slept alone before.

Damn it. Her body had become accustomed to sleeping next to Jane on that cramped mattress for the last few weeks. Briefly, she wondered if he was having trouble sleeping as well.

She laughed without humor. Stupid question. He _always_ had trouble sleeping.

She thought about tomorrow and what she would do. She wasn't allowed back to the CBI quite yet. According to the Bureau, she needed recovery time. And a psyche eval, of course. Regardless, she didn't have to be at work tomorrow and she was suddenly struck with a sense of indecision.

As she reviewed options (all of them solitary), she felt very lonely, which was silly since she had spent many days alone in her adult life.

But she couldn't suppress the nagging sensation that she was really missing Patrick Jane. Getting over psychotic Genny and Steve? Done. After all, she was a state agent and had seen enough bad things (lived through enough bad things). She knew the only thing to do was to move on.

But going back to the way her life was before? She and Jane as colleagues—with a hint of something more, she admitted—seeing each other at work and then going their separate ways. It's the way it had been since she met him.

So why did it feel so wrong?


	22. Jump

Short, but I wanted to kind of mirror the last chapter with Lisbon. Thanks for all of the lovely reviews. Just wrote and posted so I hope there aren't too many mistakes.

**Chapter Twenty-two: Jump**

Patrick Jane had not had a good night.

Sure, he hardly ever slept well. Sure, he had tried to deny that he had actually slept _better_ while being held in confinement.

But there was no denying it now.

With Lisbon, he slept better.

With Lisbon, _everything_ was better. She could bring him out of his bad memories. She could pull him from a murderous haze. She could make him feel like maybe—just _maybe_—there was such a thing as second chances. She could make him feel what he hadn't felt in over five years. Something he had never thought he'd feel again. And there was no way he could lie to himself about it anymore.

Lisbon made him feel love.

He thought he would feel uncomfortable, even guilty or nauseous, at so openly admitting it to himself. He leaned against his car (thankfully, Rigsby had thought to take care of it), staring up into the dark sky that had a hint of light on the horizon. Searching himself, he found that he was surprisingly comfortable with his conclusion.

He really did love Lisbon.

Only problem was: he wasn't quite sure what to do about that. It had been less than twenty-four hours—probably less than twelve, even—and he missed her. Oh, he'd see her once they both started work again. But how could he not brush his hand along her cheek when the light hit just right? How could he lie on the couch, on the bare mattress under the gruesome face, night after night without feeling her soft weight beside him, on top of him?

He tried to remember what it was like before Genny and Steve had abducted them. Brief touches. Teasing smiles. Fury-filled eyes. Eyes sparkling with mischief.

Distance.

There had always been something between them, something they hadn't wanted to acknowledge. And so they had each kept a sort of distance, trying to stay away from each other.

As if they were each skirting the edges of a canyon, on opposite sides with no bridge, no way to reach one another without falling into the darkness, the unknown.

But that _something_ had changed during those weeks in the small, dingy room. And that distance had virtually disappeared. A bridge, a jump. Who knew what exactly had happened? He'd never be able to pin it down, for all of his so-called amazing observational skills.

Classic story: guy needs girl. Guy loves girl.

Jane needs Lisbon. Jane loves Lisbon.

Jane smirked quietly into the dawning day, thinking of his issues. Of hers. Maybe not so classic, afterall. Try as he might, he couldn't seem to make it matter. He just knew that he needed Lisbon.

Maybe even more than he needed to see the blood of Red John spilling across the floor. Maybe.

Damn. There were a lot of complications.

He looked again at the light peeking over the horizon, feeling something strangely like hope.

Getting in his car, he decided it was time to jump over the edge.


	23. Domesticity

Okay, a little jump ahead. Now just one more chapter in which Jane will flash back (I think, unless the story decides to mutate). It's kinda jumpy, but I think I like it this way. Enjoy! Warning: fluffy moment ahead! I just can't not have a happy ending. It may be a disease…*hands Angst Crown of Awesomeness over to Tromana* I tried…

**Chapter Twenty-three: Domesticity**

_Months Later_

The night was eerily familiar as Lisbon walked through the parking lot. Another night flashed through her mind. It didn't escape her notice that Jane was right beside her.

Seemingly of its own accord, her hand slid a little closer to her gun belt. Her eyes continuously searched the shadows on the edges of the light spilling from the towering posts scattered about the lot. Her ears strained to hear every sound.

She tried to shake the reaction.

_Chains rattling._

Tried to tell herself she was ridiculous.

_A single bulb swinging back and forth, as if in time to her heartbeat._

The security around the building had been stepped up.

_The bed creaked under the weight of two bodies._

Nothing was going to happen.

_The door swung open, revealing the faces that plagued her nightmares._

"Lisbon?"

She turned to Jane, being sure not to give him too much attention lest her focus be weakened. "Yes?"

He smiled. She could practically hear him tell her to relax. Idly, she wondered why he had been so serious and she playful when they were being held and now they seemed to have switched roles. She felt the brush of his hand on hers, fingers sliding against fingers, and then their hands were joined.

A quick peck of his lips on her cheek and then he was disappearing into the car that they had just reached. He still had it in him to surprise her. Scowling, she surreptitiously glanced at the surveillance cameras.

"Damn it, Jane!"

And even though she was pissed as hell at the PDA, the sound of his laughter loosened something inside of her.

She made sure the scowl was still painted across her face before climbing into the car after him. Steadfastly keeping her eyes ahead, she pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road. She could feel the stare of eyes from the passenger seat.

Ignore it. Nothing irritated Patrick Jane more than being ignored.

"You know you liked it, Lisbon."

She flicker her wrist, turning on her blinker to go left.

"You're so cute when you're ignoring me."

Spotting a space in the traffic, she smoothly cut through and continued on the new road. She was pretty sure he was bristling now in the passenger seat, though she refused to look over to confirm her suspicions.

"Okay, maybe not _that_ cute."

She ruthlessly suppressed a smirk. Almost home.

"Li-isbon…"

Her name was drawn out into two syllables. She parked the car, undid her seatbelt and climbed out of the car. Amazing how short the trip was when she had the wonderful joy of finally—_finally_—annoying Jane.

Arms circled around her waist. "If you don't stop ignoring me, I'll be forced to drastic measures: the PDA to end all PDAs."

His nose nuzzled her neck and, much as she enjoyed the caress, she did not enjoy giving her neighbors (anyone, actually) a show. "You wouldn't."

He kissed her neck. "I would."

She pulled away and crossed her arms in front of her, glaring. "If you want to become very acquainted with the couch, go ahead."

He waggled his brows at her. "I thought the three of us became _very_ acquainted last night when we…"

She blushed hotly and held both hands up, cutting in. "Okay, okay. Let's just go inside."

"Of course, my dear."

Damn. Someday, she would have the last word.

Inside, she hung up her jacket as he slipped off his shoes. He unbuttoned his vest as she flipped through the mail. Domesticity.

She poured the wine as he made the dinner.

She washed the dishes while he put laundry in the dryer.

He brushed his teeth and she took off her clothes, dropping them on the floor of their bedroom.

He picked up her clothes and put them in the hamper as she washed her face, going through her nightly ritual.

She turned off the light on the table beside the bed as he slid under the covers.

He put his arms around her, pulling her close, and she wondered if it was weird to be kind of happy that they had been taken.

Her head lay on his chest, listening to his heart beat.

They had known each other for months, years.

And yet they had found one another only when they had been put into a cramped basement, chained there and forced to endure awful things.

Out of the darkness sprang hope.

Light.

Love.

She breathed in deeply and tried to remember the moment, tried to impress it in her mind.

This was what safe smelled like. Felt like.

A feather-light kiss on her temple and she was asleep.


	24. Put it this way

Hello, everyone. The final chapter! Wow, it's been a long time. No excuse, really, but this last quarter of school was insane—due to some very uncomfortable and awful situations with a certain Professor, I think I've decided to finish this degree and change careers…but anyway, so sorry for the absolutely crazy wait for the final chapter. Hope it's okay... Not quite was I was expecting, but I think it works.

Thanks to anyone who comes back to read this!

**Chapter Twenty-four: Put it this way**

_A few months ago_

Patrick Jane stared at the wooden door in front of him. He noticed that the paint was a bit cracked, chipped even over there by the doorknob. Hmm, did that mean someone had tried to jimmy the door? He wracked his brain, trying to remember—maybe someone trying to pick the lock. _He_ never left a door in that condition when he picked a lock. Of course, not everyone could be as skilled as he was…

He shook himself back to the moment; he was getting off track.

His eyes flew from the peephole to the door bell button and back again. He sighed.

Okay. So he knew what he wanted—_her_—now he just had to figure out a way to tell her (to make her want him back). He took a deep breath, pasted on a serene expression, and rang her bell.

He waited for a few minutes (twenty seconds) before ringing it again. "Lisbon."

Again, an interminable amount of time passed (maybe fifteen seconds) so he knocked firmly on the door. "Lisbon!"

Finally, he heard movement from within: rushed feet…a collision? Something tumbling about and the sound of her voice (cursing). Yes, a collision.

He tried not to grin. The door flung open, revealing Lisbon in sweats and a loose t-shirt, hair cutely mussed. She glowered at him.

"For God's sake, Jane, give a person a minute to get to the door!" Her scowl did nothing to lessen his innocent gaze. "What do you want?"

"Just checking on you, boss lady." He stepped forward, knowing she had just gotten out of bed and her reflexes likely wouldn't be as honed as they usually were. Sure enough, she automatically stepped back to give him space, thus allowing him to smoothly enter her home. She blinked, bewildered, as she realized he had predicted her movements to the letter. Another glare as she shut her front door—perhaps harder than she meant to—and the slamming of the door jarred her shoulder. She flinched and Jane's carefree gaze disappeared to be replaced by concern.

"You okay, Lisbon?"

He moved close, hands on her body as he turned her and pushed the neckline of her loose shirt to the side to check the bandage. It was only after assuring himself that the bandage was firmly adhered and still a pristine white (not that hideous red) that he realized that she was still. Too still. He looked to her face, which was turned away from him and obscured by her hair, which had fallen against her cheekbone.

He couldn't help himself. His hand reached up as if of its own accord, brushing her silky hair off of her skin, tucking it behind the delicate shell of her ear. It was a battle for him to not lean over the few inches and press a kiss against the skin in front of her ear.

He knew he should back up, give her some space, but…he hadn't been this close to her in a few days. Not since they had been picked up by Cho, taken away from that nightmare, that house in the woods. He hadn't realized how much he missed the warmth of her body, the soothing presence of her. He closed his eyes, breathing her in—that cinnamon body wash she used to pamper herself mixed with a scent that was purely her.

He saw them in his mind's eye, sprawled on the dingy bed in that dank hole. He reminded himself that it was a horrible experience. Awful. Chained like animals. Forced to perform like pets.

But, for some reason, at that moment all he could remember was the gentle weight of her body against him as she slept. The warm breath of her on his neck. Her soft hair cascading over his arm.

He ignored the fact that Lisbon's gaze was still fixed on the floor and that she hadn't moved (at least she hadn't pushed him away…). He put his arms around her and pulled her fully against him, bending his head to bury his face in her hair.

"I've missed you."

He didn't mean for his voice to sound so husky, so intimate. He wondered if she would skitter off like a spooked animal. He was a bit surprised that she didn't push him away. In fact, she still didn't move. He was getting a little worried by her continued silence and passiveness.

"Lisbon," he breathed into her hair. Her head turned slightly—away from him. He eased back and used both hands to cup her face and turn it to his gaze. He searched her eyes and studied her features. She looked tired. Dark bags under her eyes made the green of them seem shadowed, unsure.

Or maybe she really was shadowed. Unsure.

"Lisbon," he said again, more insistent as if he were asking her a question. Even he didn't know what he wanted from her. Her brow furrowed and he continued. "Are—are you okay?"

She opened her mouth to speak. Words seemed to fail her for a second so she cleared her throat, looking uncomfortable. "I'm fine, Jane."

He was about to challenge her, to make her convince him, when she pulled back firmly and headed to the kitchen. Her voice carried back to him. "Would you like some tea?"

He followed her. When he entered the kitchen, she was busily moving things about. "Lisbon, stop."

She ignored him and grabbed a mug, carefully rearranging the remaining mugs so there was no gap. She turned to fiddle with the kettle.

He stuck his hands in his pockets to keep from touching her. "Please."

She froze at his plea, hands abandoning the kettle and grasping the edge of the counter. Her chin dropped against her chest and he watched her take a deep breath. The curve of her back was tense. He wished he could see her face. He wished he knew what to say, how to convince her not to ignore the feelings that had risen during their capture.

She spoke first, surprising him. "I don't want to miss you, Jane."

His heart clenched, stealing his breath and any words that may have been on his tongue…did she mean…?

"I want this all to go away. To go back to what it was."

Finally—_finally_—she turned around, leaning back against the cabinets. "You're going to break my heart, Patrick Jane."

The conflict in her eyes tore at him. He wished he could deny it, that he could say he wanted her more than anything on the planet. More than life (which was true). More than revenge…but he couldn't. At least, not yet. He wasn't even sure of that himself.

"I don't want to break your heart, Lisbon."

He took a tentative step towards her. She watched him silently. "I don't want to break you at all."

Another step.

She started to relax, her hands clenching and unclenching as if deciding what they wanted to do. He wondered if she wanted to hold him as much as he wanted to hold her.

One more step and he was in front of her.

He reached out and gently grasped her upper arms. His hands slid down her smooth skin until he reached the fidgeting hands. Ever so slowly he twined his fingers with hers, feeling the slight calluses that created warm sensations along his nerves.

For a moment, he just reveled in the feel of their tangled hands. He didn't want to lie. He didn't want to promise her forever. Didn't want to hurt her. He wanted to…he wanted to—

"I want to love you."

Her eyes widened. He knew she was surprised by the candid statement—seemingly so sudden. He was, too, if he was honest. But it had slipped out. And tasted so right on his tongue.

A smile started to spread on her face. "What's stopping you?"

It would have been so easy to lean forward, kiss those beautiful lips, and forget that there was anything in his way. So easy.

But he couldn't.

His eyes were solemn. "Lisbon—Teresa—I don't know if I…that is, when Red John…I—"

She lifted up onto her toes and pressed her lips against his in an almost chaste kiss, falling back as quickly as she had risen. "I know. We'll deal with it when it happens."

His eyes were regretful. "You deserve—"

Her eyes sparkled impishly as she used the same technique to shut him up—this one a little longer. He was the one to blink at her in bewilderment this time, trying to focus on the conversation and not the delicious way her lips slid against his.

Her words were wry. "How about I be the judge of what I deserve?"

He wanted to say more, opened his mouth to protest, to point out all of the options she had besides him. She rolled her eyes and beat him to it.

"Patrick Jane. Why the hell did you come over here, push your way into my apartment, and confess your feelings if you were going to try to talk me out of mine?"

He shut his mouth and looked at her sheepishly. Well, when she put it that way…

It was a long time before they spoke again.

**THE END!** _Whew, made it…_


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